by Ann Maxwell
Satin studied the move he had made for only the briefest moment. Languidly, her hand moved over the grid, setting in place three colorless gems. The grid chimed and changed shape. The man watched and all but groaned. He reached again for the diminished mound of gems in front of him. His hand trembled as he picked out five stones, then four more, and placed them on the grid.
Satin did not even hesitate this time. Her hand dove into the heap of gems in front of her, hovered over the grid, then deposited only three stones. There were almost no openings left, except at the center. Watching him, she put a single transparent stone in the center of the grid.
A chime sounded. The grid reformed. There were more openings now, many more, far more than he had stones to fill.
“Your turn,” urged Satin, her husky voice soft.
The man said nothing. With a savage gesture, he shoved his remaining stones into the center of the grid. Gems skidded and caromed off the raised edges of the table. He stood up and pushed into the crowd.
Laughing softly, Satin gathered the gems into a mound and began pouring them from her hand to the table as the grid chimed and changed again. Gems twinkled and stuck to the grid, held by force fields and rules wholly unknown to Kirtn and Rheba.
“Game?” asked Satin, smiling slightly.
“No. Just a navtrix,” said Rheba, her voice neutral, her eyes fascinated by the gems sliding and winking across the table. She was careful not to show her impatience. If she let Satin know how much they needed the navtrix, their flesh and bones would be part of the price.
Satin looked from Rheba to the Bre’n beside her. The woman’s black eyes were unreadable, her face utterly still. Gems flashed and fell between her slim black fingers. She made no gesture that Kirtn could see, but suddenly two Equality Rangers appeared and stood behind him.
Silently, Kirtn raged at the necessity that had driven them into Satin’s lair. His weapon appeared in his hand in the same instant that Rheba’s akhenet lines burst into flame. Satin noted the speed with which they had responded to the Rangers, and the sudden appearance of incandescent patterns on Rheba’s skin.
Satin gestured from the Rangers to two empty chairs. “Sit.”
It was not an invitation. Warily, both Rangers lowered themselves into the chairs.
“Are these the ones you saw earlier?” asked Satin, indicating Rheba and Kirtn with a tilt of her head.
“Yes. They weren’t licensed to kill, then.”
“Did they?”
“No. They’re legal to the last credit.”
“And their OVA?”
“Over thirty-seven million credits. All legal. No fines, complaints or judgments outstanding.”
“Then they’re in no way forbidden to own an Equality Ranger Scout navtrix?” Clearly, the Rangers wanted to say no. There was a long silence, punctuated by Satin’s sudden laugh. “Answer me, Rangers. You’re being recorded.”
“'I don’t like the idea of a furry with a Scout navtrix!” snarled one of the Rangers. “If you give a furry your little finger, he’ll have your whole arm.”
Satin waited. The Ranger’s partner sighed.
“They aren’t Equality citizens,” said the second Ranger.
“Neither am I. I own three navtrices.” Satin’s voice was husky, intimate—and dangerous.
Rheba shivered. She did not know what was happening, but she sensed danger coiling invisibly around the table. One of the Rangers turned to study her. She noticed for the first time the subtle signs of rank embroidered on his scarlet collar, and the lines of hard living engraved on his face. He exuded power the same way his partner exuded hatred of furries.
“Sell it to them,” he said abruptly. Then, “We’re even, Satin.”
He tossed a hand-sized packet onto the table and walked off without a word. His partner gave a hard look at Kirtn, then followed.
Satin watched, amusement curling around the corners of her mouth; but in her hand, barely visible, was a lethal little gun. She put it away with a smooth motion and turned toward Rheba. “Thirty-five million credits. First and last price. Of course, you’re licensed to steal. You could just take this"—-she tapped the packet—"and run.”
Watching Satin’s easy assurance, Rheba sensed it would be very stupid to steal a single credit from the owner of the Black Whole.
Kirtn apparently reached the same decision. He put their OVA tab into a slot in the table, spoke briefly, and reached for the package.
“Or,” continued Satin, “I could keep the packet and the credits you just transferred to my OVA.”
As she spoke, her hands flicked out. The package containing the navtrix vanished as though it had never existed. There was an instant of shock when Rheba expected Kirtn to crush Satin between his hands, then a moment of even greater shock when Rheba realized that Kirtn was standing frozen, muscles rigid with effort, fighting something she could neither see nor sense.
She felt peculiar energies flowing into her from the point where her body touched Kirtn. The discordant energies made her world tilt and her mind scream. She felt her Bre’n’s terrible struggle to right the canted world and quiet the psychic cacophony that was destroying him.
Rage burst over her. She sucked into her akhenet lines all the power coming from the casino’s core. Games stopped, force fields vanished, lights died. In the sudden midnight, lines of pale lightning coursed from Rheba, shattering the gems on Satin’s table. A warning.
“Let him go!”
As Rheba spoke, even her breath was incandescent—but not deadly, not yet. She did not want Satin to die until Kirtn was free.
And Satin knew it. Satin was there, in Rheba’s mind. The fire dancer felt a cool brush of approval and laughter as the gambler withdrew.
“Turn the fields back on,” said Satin, handing the navtrix to Kirtn. “You’re frightening the children.”
Rheba put a blazing hand on Kirtn’s arm, sensed his rage and fear . . . and freedom. With a sigh she released her drain on the casino’s energy source and damped her own fires. Except for the ruined gems, there was nothing to mark the moments of fire-dancer rage.
“Are there any men of your race around here?” asked Satin, smiling languidly as she stirred the hot fragments of her gems. “Men who can’t be controlled?”
Rheba did not answer. The only male of her race that she knew of was a boy called Lheket, her only hope of children, of a new race of Senyas. But she could not tell Satin that; she did not want Satin to know anything at all.
As though guessing—or knowing—her thoughts, Satin murmured, “So few, then? Don’t worry, I wouldn’t take him from you. But I surely would like to borrow him from time to time,” she said wistfully. “How about him?” she continued, looking at Kirtn. “I couldn’t control him, either. Kill him, yes, but not control him.” She switched her attention back to Rheba. “Is he any good lying down?”
It took Rheba a moment to figure out exactly what Satin was asking. “I—I don’t know,” she blurted, unable to think of a lie or keep silence.
“You don’t know.” Satin laughed sadly. “Sweet green gods, what a waste. I suppose you come from one of those dreary little dung balls that forbid more passion than it takes to make dreary little dung-ball preachers.”
“No,” said Kirtn, “she’s just too young.”
Satin looked from Rheba to Kirtn and back again. “Too young? No child fights for her man the way she just did.” She made an abrupt gesture, silencing whatever objections either might make. “Never mind. Your delusions aren’t important to me. Still, if she isn’t enjoying you . . . ?” Satin’s smile transformed her from formidable to fascinating. She radiated sensual hunger the way a star radiated energy.
Kirtn could not help but feel the pull. He was Bre’n; sensuality was in his genes. And even at her most calculating, Satin was every molecule a woman. If he could cut a loop out of time and share it with her, he would. But he could not.
Satin’s smile changed, becoming humorous rather than enticing.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice husky. “That’s the nicest refusal I’ve ever had. If your hot woman-child frustrates you too much, remember me.”
Rheba looked from one to the other, feeling an undefinable anger prickle along her akhenet lines. Satin reminded her of a lustrous spider in the center of a jeweled web.
“Don’t be jealous, child,” murmured Satin, looking at Rheba out of long dark eyes. “It’s just that I’m tired of having nothing but insects to play with.” She sighed and swept the ruined gems to the floor. “You did me a favor when you killed Jal. Now I’ll do one for you. I saw a face in your control room, a young man with eyes like winter ice.”
“Daemen?” said Kirtn.
Satin’s face changed. “So he even uses the name, does he? Most would hide it.” Her eyes were very black now, as cold as the void between the stars. “When you leave the planet, make sure he’s aboard. When you come out of replacement, space him.”
Rheba was too shocked to say anything. Kirtn leaned forward until his eyes were on a level with Satin’s. “Why?”
She made a curt, negative gesture. “I’ve named your devil, but I’ll be damned if I’ll describe it. And I mean that literally. Take my advice. Space him before it’s too late.”
“No,” said Rheba flatly. “He’s just a boy. He’s done nothing to us.”
Satin stood. “You have fifteen standard minutes to get off the planet. If you run, you’ll just make it.” Her expression softened. “May your gods go with you. You’ll need them.”
The gambler’s voice was calm, but her mind screamed in Rheba’s: Space him!
VI
“Two minutes!” said Rheba, peering over Kirtn’s shoulder to see how close he was to finishing the installation of the new navtrix.
The run from the Black Whole had been short and furious. Kirtn was working over an opening in the control board that the Devalon had provided on command. The old navtrix was balanced precariously on his knee. The new one was in a glittering nest where the old one had been. There were no wires or other physical connections to be made—Equality science was primitive, not barbaric—but there was the necessity of precisely positioning the new navtrix within the old matrix.
“Got it,” he said. “I hope. Light it up.”
One minute.
Neither one spoke aloud, but both heard the echo of the clock running in Rheba’s mind. She instructed the ship to energize the navtrix and held her breath. Long seconds passed. Nothing happened.
Kirtn muttered words that Rheba ignored. Akhenet lines rippled and glowed along her body. If the ship could not activate the navtrix, she would have to try. It was not a skill she had been taught on Deva, being too young to work with intricate energy constructs such as a navtrix. But if the ship failed, she would have to try.
Twenty seconds.
She sensed the curiosity of the others in the cabin, yet no one spoke. The urgency that Rheba and Kirtn radiated was sufficient explanation for the moment. A slim figure moved forward, straining to see what was happening. Rheba felt warmth and a slight pressure from another body. She had started to turn her head to see who was crowding her when the navtrix began to glow.
“'Thank the Inmost Fire,” she breathed. “That was a lovely bit of luck.”
As though the word triggered something in her mind, she turned to look at the person who had been crowding her. Daemen. But there was no time to explore the ramifications of his presence, and perhaps no need—the Yhelle navtrix simply could have taken longer to energize than the Senyas variety it replaced.
“Hang on,” she said curtly. “We’ve got to clear this planet now.”
Kirtn warned the rest of the passengers as Rheba pulled the pilot mesh around her. The Devalon’s outputs lit up with racing colors. The air quivered with instructions that only someone used to the Bre’n language could understand.
“Three!” yelled Rheba.
The passengers shifted, seeking purchase against the coming surge of energy. No one protested. They were a tough lot, accustomed to worse than the ship was going to deliver. When the Devalon leaped upward, flattening them against each other and the floor, there were no complaints.
Rheba took the first replacement almost immediately, clearing Onan’s gravity well just enough to ensure that the ship and its passengers were not wrenched apart. She did not want to argue with Satin over niceties of measurement—off-planet usually meant out of the gravity well.
It was a short jump. At its end, Rheba looked around to see if anyone was injured. People lay in various piles around the room and spilled into the tubeway, but no one seemed hurt. Daemen, she noticed, had landed on top rather than on the bottom of his pile. She signaled him to come to her.
“Does your planet go by any other name than Daemen on Equality maps?” she asked.
“No.”
Rheba instructed the navtrix to display the coordinates of a planet called Daemen and held her breath, wondering what he had done to Satin that she would urge killing him the instant he was out of Onan’s gravity well.
The coordinates appeared in the color, sound and number code of Senyas. Rheba sighed silently; she had been afraid the new navtrix would force them to use only Universal, thus rendering the ship vulnerable to takeover by anyone who could speak Universal.
“There it is,” she said, satisfaction in her voice. Then satisfaction changed to dismay as she read the replacement code. The planet hung like a pendant on a broken chain at the far side of the Equality’s tenuous sprawl. “Five replacements and three changeovers. You live on the back side of nowhere,” she muttered. Then, realizing how she had sounded, she added, “Lovely place, I’m sure. It would have to be for anyone to stay there.”
Daemen laughed. “It’s a dismal place, but it’s home. My home.”
There was a possessive emphasis on the wordmy that made Rheba examine him more closely. He did not notice. His gray eyes were focused on Rainbow dangling from the small cargo net over the control board. As he watched the Zaarain construct, Daemen looked older, harder . . . even dangerous. Then he smiled, transforming his face, making her doubt that she had ever seen anything but the charming boy-man who stood before her.
With an uneasy feeling, she turned back to instruct the computer to connect with a planet called Daemen. She hesitated, then chose a far orbit around the planet. She wanted to take a discreet look at the Equality’s most distant world.
After several moments the computer whistled sweetly, telling her that her program was accepted and accurate. All that she had to do was whistle the correct response and the Devalon’s ill-assorted passengers would be on their way.
She turned to look a final time at Daemen. He smiled, eagerness and anticipation plain on his young face. She could not help smiling in return.
“It will be a while,” she said, “but you’re going home.” She whistled a complex trill.
The ship shivered faintly and its lights dimmed. The first replacement was a long one, well beyond the range of most Equality spaceships. In order to make the maneuver accurately, a high speed was necessary. Until replacement was completed, the ship would spare its passengers and crew only minimal energy.
Rheba’s akhenet lines pulsed in the diminished light. She felt Daemen’s speculative glance. Her lines were much more obvious since she had stripped to her brief scarlet ship clothes.
“I’ve never seen a race like yours,” said Daemen. “You’re beautiful,” he added matter-of-factly. “I’ll bet you brought a high price on Loo.”
Rheba grimaced. “The Loo-chim preferred furries.”
Daemen laughed, but the sound lacked humor. “The Loo-chim didn’t like anything but themselves. Are you sure they’re dead?”
“Yes.”
The quality of her voice did not encourage further questions about Loo, the Loo-chim, or her part in destroying both.
“How long will it be until we reach Daemen?” he asked.
“About one Onan day.”
Daemen looked around
the crowded control room, plainly wondering what he was going to do for that day. Others were dealing with the same question. As Rheba watched, some passengers lay down while others pushed back to give them room. After a few hours the sleepers would trade with the ones who were awake. The longer Rheba watched, the more seductive the idea of sleep became. She had not had any decent sleep since she had become a slave. She looked around for Kirtn, wanting nothing more than to curl up against her Bre’n and let go of all conscious thought.
“He’s with that fantastic snake,” said Daemen, guessing whom she was looking for.
“Kirtn?”
“Is that his name? The big man, gold hair?”
“Yes.” She paused, struck by a thought. Daemen was one of the few people since Deva who had not remarked on Kirtn’s “fur,” although the very short, very fine hair that covered him was more a texture than a pelt. Even so, it was enough to brand him an animal among the Equality planets and peoples she had met so far. “You didn’t call him a furry.”
Daemen looked surprised. “At home, people come in all colors and textures. Nobody thinks much about it.”
“I think I’ll like your planet.”
Daemen’s smile was like music. “I hope so, Rheba.”
She looked at him again, realizing that he was not so young as he appeared. His own culture might even consider him a man. The way he was watching her said that he, at least, considered himself fully grown. “Why did you leave your home?” she asked. Then, quickly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
His smile returned, but it was not the same. Before he could say anything, Kirtn approached. Around his neck hung Fssa. Kirtn took down the fine-meshed net that held Rainbow and examined the crystal mass.
“It’s bigger,” said Rheba, leaning over to look at Rainbow.
“Fssa said Rainbow took the jewels, sort of crumbled over them, and then got all solid again,” said Kirtn, turning Rainbow around as he spoke. There were no visible breaks or joinings. Rainbow looked as though it were simply a mass of crystals grown on the geologic whim of some planet. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
